


Fire in the Orphanage

by thursdaysisters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sex, F/M, abaddean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdaysisters/pseuds/thursdaysisters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because the internet needed more Abaddon/Dean angry sex fic, or I found my old Anne Rice porn and couldn't help it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire in the Orphanage

She always left one man alive to fuck after a good kill, but she'd gotten carried away. The choirmaster hung from the rafters, smoke curling from his open mouth.

Dean lay beneath the floorboards, clutching his gun and listening to Abaddon's heels click across the floor. Sam and Kevin lay nearby, wounded and unconscious but still in one piece.

She wiped her hands on her ass, her face freckled with blood as the rest of the orphans cowered in an adjoining room. She pressed her ear to the keyhole and listened. 

"Are we gonna die?!" whispered a tearful little girl.

"Yeah," said a little boy, tugging on a sleeve of the teenager left in charge, "What should we do?"

The teenager couldn't see straight, the stink of the choirmaster's flesh seering a hole in her brain. "It's gonna be alright," she said, her hand behind the boy's neck, "She won't hurt you."

"But she said she would drag us all down to Hell..." he said, faltering when the older girl did not release him.

"I'll keep you safe." she said, her hand coming up to his cheek and then around his throat. She pressed her thumbs into the soft flesh beneath his jaw, and with a strength she did not recognize, began to squeeze. "I won't let her get you."

Dean fired a shot, but the bullet passed through Abaddon and ricocheted off the concrete wall to land in a space heater. The whole room exploded in a wash of noise, and the children clambered over each other as smoke poured beneath the door.

She looked around for the source of the shot. Dean held his breath, her boots directly over him, waiting for her to leave. She bent her head, listening for something outside, and looking straight down she sent her fist through the floor.

"Well now," she said, as she wrapped her hand around his throat, "Took you long enough."  
===  
THE PREVIOUS WEEK

She'd been busy. Dean stood in a truck stop, paying for gas when the TV blared with an emergency news bulletin.

_"Twenty found dead in local school shooting, sources report an unidentified red-haired woman seen moments before the attack..."_

"Frickin' urban warfare," said the cashier, shaking his head without taking his eyes off the screen, "My brother sold his house in Long Island. Got himself a farm in Arkansas, we're gonna move in with him next month this kinda crap keeps up."

Dean handed him a fiver to switch out for singles. "I didn't know people moved _to_ Arkansas."

"What, you think the cops and the bankers are gonna keep the world safe? Naw," he said, handing Dean his change, "They want you to _think_ you're safe."

Dean counted his money, and stopped at the last dollar. Over the pyramid and Latin motto and glowing eyeball that always reminded him of '80s album art, was a message.

ARE YOU DEAN WINCHESTER?

The man slammed the register shut, waking Dean from his reverie. "Yeah, even the money is some serious Illuminati workmanship. Careful man," he warned, as the TV flashed a grainy photo of Abaddon, "Don't let the System get into your head."  
====

Dean stared at his notes, not understand any of it. He'd fallen asleep on them earlier, and was now tracing the shape of his drool marks. The bunker was quiet save for Sam's pencil tapping on his chest as he translated an article on Wagnerian blood magic.

"You just finished a job yesterday," said Sam, sensing Dean's impatience, "You're better off helping me and Kevin work on the tablet."

Dean pushed the papers away and stood up for another beer. It had been a standard issue job, the vampire with a plunging neckline, the grateful yoga mom, the young Xena-wannabe who agreed to co-hunt with him but spent the entire time whining about revenge while Dean dug a grave in the rain. They'd all tossed themselves at him at one point, and he'd all but fallen asleep as they alternately slapped or cried on him. 

"Abaddon's out there," said Dean, twisting off his beer cap, "We should be hunting, before more people get hurt."

"You belong here. You chase after her without a plan like you tried last time, you'll be dead," said Sam, reaching for Dean's notes, "Or worse."

Dean fingered the scar on his chest. She'd managed to swipe him with his own knife in the last melee, and a red line cut across his demon tattoo. But that didn't count, did it...?

"Were you writing with your left hand? I can barely read this."

Dean turned back and took the paper from Sam's hand. "What, it's a list of file numbers."

"No, at the bottom."

Dean scanned the page, not sure what he was looking for. Then he saw it, a scrawl of girly handwriting written in the margin, though clearly written by him.

GOING MY WAY SAILOR?

Kevin looked over Dean's shoulder. "Man you got some terrible handwriting."

"Get away." said Dean, and without meaning to, grabbed Kevin's arm hard enough to bruise.

"Ow FUCK that hurts!"

Dean released him. "Sorry, I...it's been a long day."

Kevin rubbed his arm and looked at Sam. "Get some rest." said Sam, and Dean nodded.

Dripping hot water, Dean wiped steam from the bathroom mirror and checked his scar. She couldn't actually do anything, right? He'd know it. Sam would know it.

Back in his room, he pulled out a Joplin album and flopped on the bed, unwinding to the opening strains of "Ball and Chain". Everyone else had knocked off for the night, and he undid his belt, running over his catalogue of ex-conquests and coming up short on a good option. _Dang, were they all that boring?_

He ended up falling asleep with his hand down his pants, and arose the next day to an empty bunker. "Hello?"

He opened Sam's door. He opened all the doors, and only began to panic when, two days later, no one had answered their phones. "Where the hell are you guys?"

He was tossing out old pizza boxes when he found a newspaper clipping about a church auctioning off rare books, Sam's neat penmanship underlining the address. "Oh crap." he whispered, and wheeled around for his car keys.  
=====  
Abaddon lifted Dean with one hand until his toes barely scraped the floor. The orphans bag lunches caught fire, and soon the whole room stank of french fries and burning plastic. 

"Let...Sammy...go." he rasped, and she laughed before tossing him across the room. Fumbling for the gun in his waistband, he turned just in time to find her standing over him, her body outlined in flames.

"What are you gonna do with that?"

"Let us go," he said, already weak from the smoke, "Sam and me and the kids, or what's left of them."

"I haven't done anything. I don't have to. Spend a little time in their heads, and they do the damage themselves," she said, a dark glitter in her eyes, "Listen."

He listened, a steady _plink plink_ like someone dribbling a bowling ball, and he glanced through the door which now stood ajar. The teenager knelt, gently banging her head on the floor, her classmates slowly growing cold around her. 

Abaddon leaned down, and he jammed the gun into her ribs. "Go ahead," she whispered, her face inches from his, "If it makes you feel better."

She kissed him and his gun jumped once, her mouth filling with warm blood. He tried to pull away, knocking over a lamp, but she grabbed his shirt, sucking on his mouth until her face was a red horror of blood and lipstick. Their boots scuffled in the broken glass, and shadows flitted over their bodies as a flock of sparrows burst from the bell tower.

"Don't stop..." she whispered, biting down on his ear, the room distorting in the heat haze as the fire grew and memories of Hell returned to him unbidden. No girl fucked like a demon. 

Her shirt rode up, hot skin sliding across his, but he held onto his gun. "Get...off me."

She bracketed his hips, bloody shirt clinging to her breasts, and struck him with the flat of her hand. She wiped her mouth, lipstick spread across to one ear. "Tired of your backtalk," she said, "Time we scratched off that thing for good." 

He glanced down at his scar. Had she been in his head these last days, if only for a few seconds? 

She yanked aside his shirt collar. "Sugar, you are _built_ for war. You and me are gonna start a fire so high it'll burn God's ass. But first, we have to lose the baggage. First," she said, preparing to rip out the tattoo, "We have to forget Sam."

He reared up again, but she slammed him back, her laughter echoing in the chapel as wooden pews popped and crackled. "Oh Dean," she said, peeling off her shirt to reveal round, ripe breasts with a smoking bullet wound in the center, "You are beautiful in your wrath."

"I hate you."

"We're gonna...kill our way across the country," she said, fingers weaving through his hair, kissing a line down his jaw, "I'll... _make_ you like it."

She lay on top of him, body molding to his, mouths sealed in a hot, wet smear of words as she kicked off first her boots and then her pants, cunt grinding against his belt buckle. 

A lock of red hair fell in his face, and he dropped the gun. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't gone back to that old film of her, a black and white June Cleaver vision of loveliness. His hands circled her waist and trailed bloody fingerprints, the denim whispering across her thighs. 

"Still wanna kill me Dean?" she said, her eyes black, sparks swirling upwards behind her. Sweat rolled down her chest, hair clinging to her neck in wet ringlets. She jammed his hand between her legs, sinking her teeth into his lower lip as the first finger slid inside her. He shuddered, but did not give in, his cock now in her bloody fist.

"It's okay. You can kill her when we're done. Once I'm in you," she said, her mouth set against his ear, wet cunt rolling along the ridge of his cock, "It'll be like old times."

He pivoted off the floor with his hips and rolled his weight on top of her. She writhed beneath his kiss, squirming soft curves slippery with blood, mouth twisted in fury, but _fuck_ he needed this, and he pinned her hard until his nails marked her wrists. 

"You think...you can _fuck_ the evil out of me?" she panted, as he ran the length of his cock against her, slicking it until it gleamed, "You...have _no_ idea."

Her legs wrapped around his waist, kissing and sucking the air out of his lungs as she lifted herself onto the head of his thick cock. She was not well-used, and he looked down to see her stretching around him, wet and pink and already dripping honey down the crack of her ass in anticipation. Pressing her heels into the small of his back, she grit her teeth against the sting and pushed him inside in one violent stroke. 

"I will _milk_ the innocence out of you."

A noise ripped out of him as she began fucking herself on his cock, slender hips hammering against the floor to meet flush with his. Soon he was fucking back, heart pounding as he alternately wanted to kiss her and strangle her, papers flying as they knocked over first one table and then slid across the floor to crash into a row of folding chairs.

"You're as good as...I thought it'd be."

"Shut...UP."

He released her wrists, hooking his arms under her knees. "You want me to hurt you?" he said, rolling her body until his hands were clasped behind her back, "You wanna _feel_ something?"

He thrust hard, so deep in the pockets of her belly that it rattled her teeth, slamming into her over and over, staring down at her through his eyelashes with a cruel fascination while the building burned around them. She laughed, her head falling back with the weight of her hair. 

"Oh FUCK, nothing fills the hole like righteous anger."

"You think this is funny you...evil...bitch...gonna _kill_ you..."

She closed down on him, stretched wide across the base of his cock, cheeks flushed as the heat built inside her. " _Fuck_ you're good..."

He buried his face in the hollow of her neck, biting her behind the ear until her voice cleared two octaves. She grabbed his ass and urged him on. "Don't you fucking stop, I will... _kill_ you if you stop..."

He hit the honey spot deep inside her, the head of his cock sliding past it every time he bottomed out, and she wasn't talking so much as breathing into his open mouth, her tongue hot and coppery on his. 

She bit down on his jacket. " _Hrrdr_." she said through the leather, and he obliged, snapping into her with punishing strength, lost in the violence of their love as she rode out an orgasm that started in her clit, traveled up the base of her spine, then circled back round to punch her in the gut. 

"...you're so beautiful," he whispered, still clutching her tightly, " _Dammit_..." And kissing her again he swelled inside her, pumping away until his cock was a misery to him. He didn't want to _give_ her anything, but...

She closed down on him possessively, and he saw himself reflected in her black eyes. "That's it darling," she said, as he lost himself in her and black smoke rolled over them, "Nothing to be scared of."


End file.
